Second Chances
by inhaleo0oexhale
Summary: While building the Wizarding World's first orphanage Hermione Granger meets someone unexpected from her past as the professional Quidditch team, Appleby Arrows, volunteer to help. Interesting Pairing. Oneshot. CMxHG


Author's Note:

I do not own anything other than the plotline. I may pursue this storyline further than a one-shot. I love reviews and it'd let me decide whether or not to continue. Lastly, Cormac is a weird one. I've never shipped him but he's far too one-dimensional for my liking. If Dramione can work, so can this.

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"So Hermione," Ron began slowly between stuffing a fresh blueberry scone in his mouth, "Gregory Cotton's coming out of retirement to coach the Arrows this season. Barmy, if you ask me. Forced retirement for a bit of justified jinxing. I mean-"

"Your point, Ronald?" Hermione refused to acknowledge the forced smile Harry gave her. He awkwardly tucked into his breakfast, eggs benedict. She sipped her coffee slowly, letting the burn leak down her throat. Ron nervously shifted, grabbing a piece of bacon from her plate before thoughtfully munching. She could see he was trying to form the right words, which made her hesitantly panic. Since when was Ron this….She hoped he wasn't planning on telling her that another child was on the way. A shudder ran up her spine. Molly would be ecstatic though, she conceded begrudgingly. Babysitting duties.

"Well, I hear that you're working on the orphanage proposal…and Percy told us at dinner last night that it's been approved….and Angelina told George who told Ginny but Ginny forgot to tell me so George told me at work this morn-"

Harry started guffawing into his teacup, earning two sets of glares. She poked at her runny egg, smearing the yolk with her fork to doodle. Had all her conversations with him been this painful? She tossed a helpless look at Harry, who grinned lopsidedly at her giving her the universal shoulder-shrug of "hey, what can you do".

Ron's face was pale, but his ears steaming red like the curtains of the muggle restaurant they sat in currently. Once a month they'd regroup, to catch up, whether it be a bar or restaurant. Hermione chose this time. Ron fumbled to put a cube of sugar in his tea, as his wedding ring glistened mockingly. She wasn't jealous, but she was envious. Twenty five years of life and still lonely. Ron had Susan, Harry had Ginny. It was awful. Well it wasn't. Her best friends were happy, so that made her happy. But she felt lonely.

Harry nudged her with his foot, causing her to look up startled mid-thought. Ron was speaking, growing redder by the second. She caught the tail end of his ramble.

"-she wanted to ask too. So would you? Please?"

She blinked confusedly. "Would I….what?"

Ron immediately floundered, taking her statement as a shocked form of rejection to his seemingly absurd request.

"Ron wants you to get some signatures. Ginny refuses because he harassed her teammates non-stop when she first got drafted for the Harpies."

Ah, thank you Harry Potter.

"Which ones?" Slow steady sips. Her stomach wasn't very hungry for food, dealing with the coming loneliness that came from departing from her friends. They'd be back to separate lives in half hour, an owl away but it still felt so far.

Ron handed her a crinkled piece of paper, smudged with ketchup or some mess. Scrawled on the paper were three names. Easy enough. She didn't see what all the fuss was about.

"Okay."

"Okay? So that means you'll do it?" Ron smiled a brilliant toothy grin at her, and for a moment, she felt like they were teens. She wished he looked at her like that still. Or anyone, for that matter.

He got up and hugged her happily, before dishing out a wad of muggle cash and running off to tell his wife. Harry sorted through the cash, taking back the difference and leaving a small tip. After all these years, Ron still hadn't gotten the hang of Muggle money. That waitress sure would have been happy with the generous amount Ron had left.

Harry was more subdued. He spoke with her quietly, feeling her downtrodden mood. He took a look at her tired face, bags under her eyes and lips thin and pursed. Hermione was unhappy. He wished he could do something. He had set her up, with his meddling wife's help, on a date with Neville a few years back, but it didn't work out. Years ago.

He placed a hand on Hermione and she sent him a tense smile. "How about we all celebrate at the Leaky Cauldron on Friday?"

She conceded after some grumpy refusals. She assured him she didn't want to take him away from his wife and newborn son. He was adamant that his family was more than happy to see her, when she finally caved.

They departed with Hermione feeling brighter inside, and her work day flourished.

Friday came fast, besides the time-consuming paperwork to get the orphanage funded and staffed. Kingsley had made it her sole responsibility for the next few months to get the trustees in order and begin gathering a list of children displaced by the war efforts. She already had a plan regarding muggleborn orphans, aiming to prevent future Voldemort's or abused Harry's. No one knew yet. She held it close to her heart, considering she'd essentially be rewriting the Magical understanding of orphans or unwanted squibs. The wizarding world was not reformed. It would take decades. But they saw change as something that was needed. The political corruption, the fear, it had taken a toll on the entire population. Hermione was being optimistic, but she felt they were ready for this. Fostering.

Magical parents would foster squibs, muggleborns, and magical orphans. They would take them, after being methodically matched for compatibility, and after a year of living together they could decide whether to adopt. It was controversial to most. Why hand off children to families already burdened financially in a war-torn land? What would the children suffer, when faced with the rejection of a family not wanting them after a year? There would be counselling-for the children, for the parents, for the siblings-whether it be how to cope with new enviroments, to dealing with raising children who are emotionally fragile and so forth. The ministry would also fund the necessities of the child for the first year. Through a grant. But that could be abused by some.

Hermione pushed those thoughts out of her head, finding the what-ifs were too much for her heart to handle. She'd backed this project for three years, pushing it at the conferences and gathering anyone who would listen. Now things were in action. Her work had paid off. And she found herself second-guessing whether or not this would all even come together.

The first wizarding orphanage was going to be located in Diagon Alley. A secondary branch would open in Hogsmeade a year later, if the first one was working. Percy had crunched the numbers and the total orphans ran around 75, not including the unaccounted muggleborns that would appear on the roster at Hogwarts yearly. That was a solid number for now. Minister Kingsley had worried it would push 500 and up, worrying the investors about the financial implications of such a large project.

Hermione dressed as nice as she could, feeling like the makeup did little to cover her exhaustion. This was something worthy of celebration. She greeted Harry and Ginny to a kiss on the cheek before scooping up a sleepy James and smothering his face with smooches. He giggled before burping up on himself. That was one thing she wasn't looking forward to, if she ever got a relationship to work.

They sat down to some fish and chips and spoke about the orphanage in depth. Ginny was particularly nosy regarding the Appleby Arrows. It's not every day that a professional Quidditch team decides to do some charity work and devote two weeks during their off-season to build an orphanage. Harry would roll his eyes between the giggling girls, firewhiskey did neither of them any good. Ginny was dreaming up the story of a hardened Quidditch player swooping Hermione off her feet and they'd fall madly in love and she'd finally get to ride a broomsti-Harry coughed loudly as his butterbeer went down the wrong way. The trio parted soon after, with a colicky and crying James in tow.

Hermione was nervously excited for that coming Monday. Maybe it was Ginny's drunken fantasies bouncing around in her brain, or the physical fruition of her plans being born before her very eyes tomorrow. She knew it was the latter. Men didn't affect Hermione that way, not even muscular and athletic ones.

Monday was here bright and early at 7AM.

Hermione tamed her hair with a bottle of SleekEazy, did her face with a natural tone of makeup, and wore the very best suit she could find in her wardrobe. She wanted to look good-to be the face of the orphanage so that no one would scorn the idea of one. They knew her as a war hero. She'd use it to her advantage, if need be. Rita Skeeter better be ready.

She took the tube to London, preferring it to flooing or apparition.

Hermione Granger had a spring in her step. When she got to the building site, which was warded against prying eyes during the build process before the grand opening, she was happy to see the workers were already moving material and equipment. One of the supervising workers charmed her with the magical equivalent of a hard-hat. She found herself being very glad that she did not wear heels. About four hours into the day, she was already sweating. Hermione hadn't expected to help. But she was never one to sit around. She found herself inscribing runes of protection, happiness, and peace into the foundations with precise wand movements as she cut through the steel beams. That was when they showed up. Them.

They weren't in their uniforms, which Hermione was glad of. That would have been grossly overrated and unnecessary. It was a publicity stunt, but they still were expected to do some dirty work. They did however wear their team colors. Pale blue shirts embroidered with silver arrows that zoomed around the entirety of their shirt. The group was led by Astoria, one of her colleagues. She seemed smitten with the group, wearing a lecherous smile that meant she was going in for the kill. Probably flirting their pants off, regardless of gender.

Hermione shook her head and ignored the group, preferring to focus on her runescribing. They'd come up to her eventually. She found herself very grateful the weather was chilly, for her sweat was instantly gone whenever she overworked herself.

Her wand felt hot to the touch but she continued. Her final task was to do an obscure strengthening runic she learned back at Hogwarts, which was supposed to solidify the structure but also ensure strength of mind. It was the same runework which fortified Azkaban's aurors' minds as well as the prison itself. Hermione did feel a bit silly using something so potent, but she really wanted these displaced children to find peace and be strong. The wizarding world was going to need a new generation to take the reins one day.

As she was finishing up the latin inscriptions, she heard clapping. Startled, she jumped and dropped her wand. She turned to find the group of quidditch players and Astoria looking at her in awe and smiling. She lowered her gaze to fumble for her wand, which was hot enough to make her hiss and drop it again. Her palm held a scorched imprint, blisteringly painful as she hid if from their view. Her eye twitched slightly as she stepped away from the searing wand on the ground, moving forward to shake everyone's hands with her non-burned one.

She welcomed the group, not really paying attention to individuals. Her eyes glazed over some, but never enough to pinpoint any definitive characteristics. She was far more preoccupied with the smell of charred flesh and pain that permeated her right palm which stayed hidden away in her pocket. Her wand was levitated back to her by Astoria, before they went on the tour.

The group was led around the building site, with her narrating the overview of the project and prospective future. She showed an interested female player the rune work on the support beams before they regrouped into tasks. Some were to lift the walls into place while others would do the windows, magically of course. Reporters had started showing up to take their interest away, giving her time to look at her throbbing fist. She had cauterized the wound with the heat of the wand, luckily. So that meant there was no bleeding nor was there any possibility of infection.

She wanted to go straight back home and take a pain-numbing potion, but she had to stay. Instead she wandered out of sights, trying to heal the hasty scabbing. Someone was following her though. She didn't realize until she heard the quiet footsteps against the gravel, but she was far away from the construction site and this area was still warded to prevent intruders. She searched suspiciously, wand in her left hand, for anyone who might have tried to ambush her.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" She yelled out forcefully, hoping they'd be aware she was not up for games.

More shuffling on the gravel, like crunching under boots, before silence. She waited with her heart beating loudly in her chest. The pain was borderline unbearable now. She apparated away to her home for medicine. There was no way anyone would be following her anymore, considering only three people were cued into the wards for magical transportation to-and-from the site. And two of them weren't even there today. She still felt that shake of fear though, the one that grips your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Someone had followed her, but maybe they just had a question? Why did they run then?

After her pain potion and a quick burn paste application, she was in tiptop shape for returning to work. She got there and pretended she never left. The day went on fine, with the team leaving after a few hours of work. It was quite an easy day. She half-expected the earthshattering revelation of true love, with a quidditch player walking up to her with a halo of light around him and his hair fluttering in the light breeze. Stupid Ginny.

She did not check in the next morning, because it was Astoria's turn as Assistant Project Manager. Instead, her day was spent at the ministry writing thank-you letters to all the benefactors. She felt that itch though, to peek on the progress. So late in the afternoon, around 4pm when she knew the Appleby Arrows would be gone, she apparated over to see how things looked. She was pleasantly surprised that the entire building was up. Windows were not in place, nor inner walls, but the four stories were up and she walked around feeling deliriously happy.

Maybe she'd take them all out for a drink for their job well done and even get those signatures for Ron.

Day three of the Arrows came, and their manager was ecstatic to receive her invitation for some partying. They decided on the Leaky, mostly because it was close and everyone knew it. Around 8pm she was starting to regret her decision. Astoria, the workers, the players, they'd all be there. Even Percy would probably pop in to say hello. But Hermione hated parties. From Slughorn's dreadful get together, to the Yule Ball and Ron's stupiditity-hell, even Fleur's wedding party had been ruined. She didn't want to go. Nothing good ever came out of large gatherings. She convinced herself that she needed to go. At least to show face for a bit. She took extra time getting ready, lying to herself that this was not a form of procrastination.

In the end, she did look quite pretty. Her hair was done in ringlets and she wore dark makeup to match her sleek black dress. She did not show much skin, with her dress being cap-sleeved and ending at her knees. It made her feel comfortable, a simple pleasure.

She entered the Leaky and received a raucous cheer from the inhabitants. _This_ was a celebration. Her mind was put at ease when she easily joined the boisterous chatter. Had it been this easy to have fun?

She eventually wrote the names she needed signatures from on a crumbled piece of parchment she found in her purse, and handed it off to the tipsy manager, Smir Algoric, who she learned had played on the same team as Viktor.

She found herself laughing so hard she'd nearly pee. The group made her feel bright inside, like the exhaustion vanished from her bones. Maybe it was the firewhiskey. She decided she needed to step outside and get some fresh air, after about two hours of listening to Delga, a beater, retell the time she mistook her teammate's false arm as the bat. Honestly, her throat was hoarse from laughing so hard.

She stood under the lamp post feeling the light rain mist her face. The dewy sprinkles tickled her eyelashes and cooled her flushed skin. She didn't know how long she stood there, but she felt sleepy and calm. The muffled sounds of laughter roared to life, probably at another joke told by Delga.

The sloshing of rain on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley relaxed her. No one was around at this time of night. She let a content sigh escape her lips before gathering up enough energy to brace herself for another round of fun. Her eyes fluttered open and she turned to go back inside. Something caught her eye.

Well, how could it not.

A player was looking at her, directly at her.

She blushed, feeling silly for being caught smiling at the rain.

He puffed on a cigarette, leaving a hazy cloud in the low light of the lamp post.

"Those are bad for you, you know." She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. Damn firewhiskey.

He grinned, flashing her a pearly white smile that her parents would be proud of, and flicked it to the ground before grinding it with his boots.

Hermione squinted in the darkness to make out any features. She could see curly blonde hair, looking platinum silver in the lamplight. His face was obscured by darkness. The arrows on his shirt zoomed around excitedly, breaking the surreal sense of calm and foreboding.

She wanted to run back inside, away from this mysterious curiosity that ate at her nerves. He moved closer. Close enough for her to make out his features perfectly.

Shock. That was what consumed her.

"Cor-Cormac?" She stuttered out, unsure whether it was actually him? She squinted at him even though she didn't need to.

"Took you long enough to notice me." His voice was deep, with a gravel that came from maturity. It sounded unlike the voice she remembered, yet very much the same. She was nervous. Should she apologize for not noticing him? Apologize for using him to get back at Ron? Apologize for finding him to be an utter arse?

She frowned. Why should she?

He was close enough now that they could be touching. He was still taller, she had to look up in order to meet his eyes. His body had that same muscular look, skin that same golden tan. She swallowed nervously.

'Wow. Too bad he's a git,' her mind piped up.

"How's your hand, Granger?" She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. She must be really drunk to find him attractive. She raised it up and wiggled her fingers, a silent form of 'fine'. She couldn't talk right now. He was too close. She could smell his masculine cologne. It made her mouth water. Was she really deprived enough to lust for _him_ , of all people?

She wanted to run back inside and pretend she never noticed him.

He was smiling at her. That cocky half-smile, where his lips would pull to one side in a competitive snarl but his eyes were aglow with excitement and danger. That smile. He was far too forward for her liking.

She took a step back and he moved closer. Her eyes were wide and breath came in quick puffs. He ran a hand through his curly hair, pushing it out of his face to show her predatory green eyes. He reached down and straightened his shirt, self-consciously. Or maybe to make sure he looked good, narcissistically. She bit her lip before stuttering out a hasty goodbye and quickly running back into the pub.

Cormac watched her through the murky window, drawing in another lungful of cigarette before stamping this one out too. They were bad for him. He watched her shiftily glance at the doorway, every time someone entered she'd make sure it wasn't him. She was still the same. He smiled to himself, humming as he strutted to the apparition point to go home. Yes, she was still the same. But he wasn't.

He couldn't wait for tomorrow.

Hermione woke up with dread pooling in her belly. Today she'd meet the Arrows again. And he'd be there. How did she not see him? She dressed frumpily like a dowdy grandmother. To portray her undesirability to his semi-unwanted gazes. They were so heated last night. She had dreamt of his bright green eyes glowing as he watched her strip naked for him. He had smiled that smile as he got between her legs to kiss her most intimate spot. She shuddered and tried to shake off the arousal that _beast_ caused. Hagrid's brother had more manners than Cormac.

She was all frowns when she got to the construction site. Her hair was frizzy and tangled from writhing in passion during her dreams, and she was far too upset to deal with it. Her eyes were glazed from lack of sleep and nervously flittering the area for any glimpse of his blonde hair. She clutched her coffee cup in a tight fist, drumming her wand nervously on her thigh. The morning went by, sapping her of any remainder energy, as she kept a strict lookout for him. She found him fixing his hair in the reflection of a glass window about to be hoisted and put onto the building. He winked when his reflection caught her eye. She professionally, quite professionally, ran like hell.

She spent the rest of the day hiding from him, while supervising the builders and volunteer workers. She'd find him staring, eyes laughing at her and she'd flee. Why was he so unsettling? "You're judging him based on his 17 year old self. Look how Malfoy's changed." she reprimanded her mind. Yet she could not remove that repulsion and intrigue that he drew from her. She ate dinner alone; it sat cold and tasteless as she numbly pushed it around her plate. She had written Ginny a letter regarding her…issue and Ginny had gone off the deep end with enthusiasm. Sent her over a new panty set, Arrows themed. She glared at the offending present that sat at the other end of her kitchen table.

Hermione Granger did what any sane person would do.

She wrote a list.

It included things like "he's creepy staring all the time", to "he's got nice hair", to "he looks at me like I'm dinner", to "he's too preoccupied with his appearance".

In the end she was no closer to figuring out her feelings towards him. She did feel childish in how she was avoiding him, did feel guilty how she treated him in the past instead of outright stating their incompatibility, did feel physically attracted to him every time he was near her. She had forgotten he existed, truth be told. She wasn't even sure if he was a defender of Hogwarts or if he fled the country at the time, which she wouldn't hold against him. His choices weren't hers to judge. Regardless, she spent the night dreaming up the ideal Cormac McLaggen, one who genuinely worried about her burned hand and fussed over his appearance to impress her.

She visited Ron and Susan and their baby, Hugo. Astoria would deal with the building site today. She almost forgot her worries fully, laughing and playing with her godson. Sundown came and she found herself miserable. She went to the orphanage, to check on the progress, like she did on her off days.

Someone was still there. She could hear a hammering noise, indicative of overtime workers. They didn't have clearance for that. She stalked through the site, visiting rooms that had been established as she tried to locate the noise. It was the shed out back. Well, they were designating an outback shed, in the plans. It was going to one day be her personal rooms to visit, work, and call home when she was there.

She frowned before using a quick unlocking spell to open the door.

Shirtless.

Sweaty.

Glistening.

He turned only his face towards her, hammer poised midair and pulling the muscles of his back taut.

Her mouth was dry like sand.

"Hi." She didn't mean for it to come out like a whisper.

He put the hammer down and took his discarded shirt to wipe his forehead. She licked her chapped lips as she watched him move. Hard muscles grinded under his skin as he moved, pulling and tightening.

She regretted coming to check on the site.

He faced her, in the low light of night, and grinned again. Like a cat with a canary.

Hermione could see a few beads of sweat trickle down his defined abs and shook herself to focus. But he'd caught her. One perfectly groomed blonde eyebrow raised almost mockily.

She flushed a dark red, feeling like Ron whenever he got scolded by Molly.

He slowly walked over to her, as if he was aware that his body did wondrous things as he moved.

Close enough to smell him, musky like a man after sex. She wanted to reach out and touch him.

"Hi," he said. It was soft, murmured. She fiddled with her wand, trying to keep her eyes off him.

"You've been busy." Running away from me, was left unsaid.

"You're not supposed to be here, Cormac." Again she whispered, scared to break the illusion of turbulent peace.

"At the site…or in your life?" He was frowning at her. It was odd. She wasn't used to seeing him without his carefree grin, but she recalled he had a nasty temper in Hogwarts. He didn't seem very temperamental anymore.

"I-I don't think I know what you mean." Hermione gave him a halfhearted retort. 'Both. You can't be here to make me feel guilty, like it's my fault we were awful together. I'm sorry I used you.' Her mind rambled.

"Sit. Let's talk." And suddenly he was giving her that cocky half smile. She sat down on his nonverbally transfigured seat, a pebble in disguise. He was still shirtless. She could see the beginnings of the blonde wisps of hair that led below his beltline. Was it getting harder to breathe in here?

He was watching her like a hawk, perfectly poised on his own transfigured chair. Hermione couldn't focus. Her cheeks burned red and she watched the wall pointedly. He groaned a sigh, making her body heat up at the sound, but huffed around begrudgingly as he put his shirt on. She flushed a darker red, feeling even the tip of her nose heating up. He caught her.

"So…how've you been?" She looked up at him wide-eyed. The shirt didn't help. She could smell him and taste him on the air. The shirt, soaked with sweat, clung to his body like skin. It looked even more sinful than him without. How could he talk to her so calmly, with her body being jelly and panties a puddle?

"Hermione, are you okay?" The way he said her voice made her synapses tingle. She rubbed her thighs together to ignore the throb between her legs. He came closer. She could taste the sweat on his skin. Her tongue ached for more. "Hermione?" Her breaths were definitely harder to make. "Hermio-" Is it hot in here, or is it just you?

And with that last thought, she blacked out.

She woke up to moist little fingers prodding her face. Or so she hoped.

James and Hugo were sitting on her hospital bed, trying to braid her hair or nest in it.

"Why am I here?" she asked confusedly. Ron and Ginny frantically fawn over her, getting her water to drink and alerting the nurse.

Apparently she had something that was basically a sensory overload. Overstimulation. She blushed a violent shade of scarlet.

Ginny gave her a toothy grin, wanting to let her know she was ready for an interrogation. The nurses fussed over her and left her alone after checking her vitals. Ginny and Ron left her after she nagged them for spending the night here. Both their kids were cranky and tired too. They left her to peace and quiet around midday. The healer refused to let her leave though because she was also suffering signs of exhaustion, like her tiredness and lack of appetite. They were going to keep her for observation for another day or so. She hoped the Daily Prophet wasn't going to catch wind of this and knock her credibility for bearing the burden of an orphanage.

She was browsing a gossip magazine, reading the latest beauty advice, when there was a knock on the door. She called to let the nurse know to come in.

Except the nurse was holding a bundle of flowers and most definitely was not a nurse.

She bit her lip to hide the small smile that threatened to give her away. Cormac grinned at her before setting them at her bedside table and pulling up a chair to sit near her.

She felt awkward and embarrassed, fainting because he-that word. He did that thing.

"I'm sorry Hermione," she fought the shiver that rushed up her spine when he said her name, "I didn't realize our conversation was so thought-provoking, so _stimulating_. I would have stopped if I knew how worked up it got you." She grit her teeth in anger at being taunted. That little shit. She glared at him over the top of her magazine.

"No, seriously though. I'm sorry. I really didn't realize anything was wrong until you were gasping for air. I thought you were just embarrassed." He sounded so sincere, with his green eyes glittering with honesty. She rumpled the edges of the magazine in fists. He made her more embarrassed of being embarrassed, if that was possible.

"So how are you feeling?" "Better."

"What are you reading?" "Nothing."

"Did you eat yet?" "Yes."

And so it went. Painstakingly terrible cold-shoulder from Hermione and a persistent Cormac continued.

He propped his feet up on the bed and plucked the magazine from her hands and began reading her his equivalent of a bedtime story like a proud father.

"How to look, be, and feel sexy. First, get naked. I'm serious girl-toss the clothes and bear it all to your mirror. Now shave that hai-"

Hermione ripped the magazine out of his hand and tossed it to the corner with a brilliant shade of red on her face. He was laughing loudly now. A manly chuckle, deep vibrations that tickled her ears. She's smitten.

"Fine Cormac. I wasn't reading it. What do you want to talk about?" Huffy and annoyed came her resignation. He pat her hand in a placating manner before entwining their fingers. She stared at the bold move, of their hands perfectly mismatched in size but fitting. She didn't move her hand.

"You know, when I saw you, I couldn't believe my eyes." She grumbled a reply at his pitiful attempt at romantic. He smiled wide and carried on.

"I'm serious. I already had some major respect for the woman who was going to redesign our society and help the children. But when I saw it was you, it made sense." Her palm was clammy now, but he didn't notice or care much. Instead, he took his other hand and began stroking her fingers with his calloused thumb as the other hand gripped hers in a warm prison. She liked it. It calmed her down.

"I'm an orphan, you know. I felt connected to the efforts of someone who would go out of their way to help the misplaced youth of the war. When I saw it was you, _the_ Hermione Granger, I couldn't help but to see how things fell into place. I had already felt a deep connection with you. Your kindness. But I finally was given a second chance to not fuck things up."

Hermione felt herself relaxing into her bed as he stroked her hand and spoke softly of his past. She found herself finally getting the answers she craved; it broke her heart with each new piece.

"I'm sorry for pursuing you so blatantly. I was cocky and clearly not what you were interested in. I think half of it was my honest attempt at trying to impress you with my family, my abilities, my appearance. I didn't think about what you'd be impressed with, being who you are. Anyway, not to get sappy here and freak you out."

He chuckled quietly to himself and Hermione found herself smiling back at him. Her fingers curled around his.

"I guess, when the second chance came, I fudged it up too. First, when I saw your wandwork I was amazed. Truthfully. And then you burned your hand. No one noticed, but I saw how tight your eyes got from the pain and how you refused to take time to heal it, instead giving everyone a tour. My wand was itching to stun you and drag you off to St. Mungo's halfway through. I tried approaching you about it but I scared you off. That was the next thing.

I didn't know how to pursue you. You were so focused on tasks, or busy with designating orders. I barely saw you but hoped my handiwork would impress you on the first day. I went to sleep feeling burning shame that first night. I failed to stand out enough for you to spare me a glance. Stupid, I know."

Hermione frowned at him as he continued.

"The second day you weren't even there. I thought you weren't coming back at all. That you'd just come to greet us and I'd lost my opportunity. I worked like a dog, taking my anger out by letting the physical labor drain me."

He lifted her hand slowly. Her heart sped up and she watched him with lidded eyes. Her hand brushed against his lips, knuckles feeling cold from the slip of moisture. His lips tickled her, grazed her knuckles, as he continued his tale.

"Day three came and Algoric told us you'd invited all of us to the pub. I was there a half hour early, and you didn't show for 2 hours. I thought you wouldn't come. I watched you that night, half feeling like a stalker but thankful that you were having a wonderful time. You looked like you hadn't gotten to laugh like that in years."

"You went out to take a breather, and I came after. It's late and I didn't know if any hags were nearby, yaknow? Anyway, you looked breathtaking. Still do. Always do. But I couldn't stop looking at you. I think I scared you again, didn't I?"

Hermione murmured a response, something akin to yes. She was dazed and slightly aroused by the feel of his lips on her knuckles and the sound of his whispers.

"You finally recognized me. I wanted to grab you right then and kiss you senseless. But you ran away. And it reminded me that you still didn't know how many things had changed. How I changed."

He pressed a hard, firm kiss on the center of her palm as he looked directly into her eyes.

"I tried to flirt with you the next day, to take the edge off the night before. Since I'm sure I was creepy as hell…but you ran again."

Another kiss. Then small kisses on the tips of each finger.

"I begged Astoria into letting me take on the project. She didn't care really, as long as it got done. I wanted to build your office. To show you how hard I'd work to make sure you were taken care of. And you caught me. Sort of. I think I caught _you_ off guard, more than anything. But it just solidified everything. To know that you felt any sort of attraction to me meant that I was doing something right. Even if it was just my body, I'd show you it could be more."

Hermione was practically a puddle of hormones and mush. He kept kissing her fingers, lightly nipping here and there. Her hands were clammy-probably salty and gross, but he acted like he was making love to her. Her eyelids fluttered closed. "Show me it could be more?…" she murmured breathlessly.

He ran his tongue across her fingertip. She could imagine it being somewhere far more sensitive. He's sinful.

"Please give me a chance, Hermione."

He begged her. She let out a soft moan as he suckled softly on the tips of her fingers, feeling far too erotic to be weird.

She opened her eyes slowly, breathing heavily.

"Cormac, please."

And then he knew.

She knew.

It already was more.

 _-Fin_


End file.
